


whittling

by atonalremix



Category: Tales of Symphonia
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 02:38:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15596388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atonalremix/pseuds/atonalremix
Summary: Colette, the one kind enough to fetch Lloyd dinner twice a week all semester, couldn't be the Chosen. The Church - and leaders like his father - would have kept Colette on a tight leash, and her education on an even tighter one. She wouldn't have had the space to move around campus without security, let alone the ability to carve a space into his life, week after week, without expecting anything in return. Or: the college AU no one asked for.





	whittling

There were worse work-study jobs than manning the Church of Martel's phones. Twice a week, between 5 and 9 PM, he would head into the church basement, past the practicing choir and the bustling youth groups, and settle in for a long night of studying or whittling. As long as he maintained phone records, the priest never cared what he did. This, Lloyd supposed, was a blessing from the Goddess Martel herself. (Though, deep down, he couldn't say he believed in her to begin with.)

Most nights, he would whittle sticks of wood and intricately carve them into figurines that he would later sell online or at Palmacosta University's crafts fairs. They fetched a fair price, and in turn, he earned enough money to continue his studies in astronomy and astrophysics. Tonight was no exception to his routine: he brought out his basswood, his selection of chip carving knives, and the sketches he had drawn earlier in the week. 

His only company was the ever-quiet phones, and the clinking of glasses and utensils from a youth group dinner in the next room. While Lloyd never invited himself over - out of pride and unwillingness to believe in an imaginary goddess - one of the kids usually left him a plate of pasta or salad. Each time, a girl around his age would set food, a bottle of water, and utensils before returning to the festivities. He would give the young girl a polite nod and word of thanks, just in case. Sometimes, she would compliment his carvings - doubly so if he were whittling a dog. That had been the extent of their conversations.

Her friends were waiting for her to return, and he had work with which to procrastinate. Still, his kind dog-lover had a warm spirit. No breed, no messy sketch, no eager doggy smile was beyond her capability of love. Her infinite heart had given him an idea - tonight, when she delivered dinner, he would give her a dog carving in exchange. It was the perfect kind of gesture. 

So when he saw her approach, he set his instruments aside and pulled out his latest dog carving. The long, floppy ears were unpolished, but the girl never seemed to care. She had loved each and every dog as if they were her own.

As she set the plate down on the table in front of him, however, she stared at his sketches longer than usual. Her feet stumbled on the rug beneath her, and she fell backwards with an uncharacteristically loud thud. Clinging to the table wasn't much better; the table runner - and all of the table's contents - slipped down with her.

Shit, shit shit, shit... please don't be bleeding or gravely hurt. He didn't have enough apple or orange gels to subside the pain, and he definitely didn't have CPR or first-aid training... 

"Are you okay?" Lloyd immediately rose to his feet, pocketing his carving, and rushed to her side. 

She winced, closing her eyes at his touch. "Owwwww..."

The poor girl had green pesto sauce - and the long, stringy pasta - splattered all over her green church robes, and leafy salad greens clung to her pale blonde hair. She was the picture of a giant stain, and Lloyd bit back a laugh as he knelt by her side.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up," he said, effortlessly slinging her arms across his shoulders. "That sure sounded like a nasty spill."

Her cheeks grew a faint red. "Oh, no, it's okay. It's my fault for spilling your dinner all over the floor, anyway..."

"Just means I'll have to finally introduce myself to everyone and get a new plate," Lloyd countered, without missing a beat. "You're awfully nice, you know that? Fixing a total stranger dinner without even asking his name?" 

"Well, that's because I know you're Lloyd Irving." She flashed him a sneaky, mischievous smile. "Professor Aurion talks about you a lot, you know. He's proud of all the things you've accomplished here." 

Lloyd resisted the urge to sigh. Even all the way out here in Palmacosta, where the Church of Martel's influence was only felt _in the literal church_ and among theology majors, his father had told the devout more than what was strictly necessary. Cool. Wasn't like Lloyd wanted to earn a reputation independent of his father's high-ranked status or anything. 

"In that case..." Lloyd leaned over, pulling salad greens off the girl's face, "Don't I get to know your name?"

Her cheeks grew a faint red. "Colette. My name's Colette."

Colette, as in the Chosen destined to lead the next generation of believers? The young woman with an entire population's hopes and dreams resting on her shoulders? The Chosen who would lead all of Sylvarant into salvation, once she completed the pilgrimage that restored life to their damaged earth? (The one who would _die_ , sacrificing her soul, when she completed said pilgrimage?) 

This Colette, the one kind enough to fetch him dinner twice a week all semester, couldn't be the Chosen. The Church - and leaders like his father - would have kept Colette on a tight leash, and her education on an even tighter one. She wouldn't have had the space to move around campus without security, let alone the ability to carve a space into his life, week after week, without expecting anything in return.

"That's a beautiful name," he told her, swallowing down his hesitation and for the first time, feeling the weight of the carving in his pockets. "Thanks for looking out for me, all this time."

"Of course." Her smile grew genuine as they headed into the women's washrooms to freshen up. "It's - you know, you don't..."

"I don't what?"

"It's nothing." She shook her head, peering into the mirror and wiping off pesto sauce and salad dressing from her face and arms. Once that was done, she shimmied out of her robes, revealing the short-sleeve, knee-length tunic and dark leggings she wore underneath. 

Lloyd could feel the sinking doubt in his bones, and it wasn't from the uneaten meal. "It feels like you were about to say _something._ "

"Oh, um..." she coughed, straightening her hair and inspecting herself for any missed stains. "It doesn't feel like work when I'm doing it for you."

He scratched his cheeks. Her compliment was entirely unearned: all he did was sit by the phones and occasionally answer them (and the unfortunate souls who usually had the wrong number). He couldn't say he did actual work. The Church was paying him to babysit. Yet he could feel the weight behind her words. He didn't ask this of her, and she didn't feel the pressure to feed him. She just did. 

"Still," he finally said, fishing out the dog carving in his pocket. "You didn't have to, and that meant something to me."

Her eyes lit up like the stained glass paintings above as she accepted the carving and held it carefully in the middle of her palm. 

"Really?" She drew in a breath. "You made this for me? Oh, thank you, Lloyd. He's beautiful."

He avoided her admirable, starry-eyed gaze. He didn't deserve that kind of praise, either, for procrastinating on his studies and whittling little figurines all evening. Plus, the real beauty was standing right in front of him.

"You're welcome," he remembered to say, after a long moment, stepping to the side and holding the door for her. 

As she led him into the other room, introducing him to people he would never remember and dishes he would never eat again, he felt the awe and respect radiate from everyone. Colette was loved, and beloved by all she touched. Himself included. 

He made a note, then and there, to transfer work-study jobs in the morning. As long as Colette remained here in the basement, whittling away at his heart (and what remained of his reputation), he couldn't stay here. No job would be worth the inevitable heartache.

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of an AU challenge for the month of August, and set in a psuedo-modern AU where Sylvarant is the dying world, yet retains advances in technology like the phone and a decent post-secondary education system. 
> 
> Many thanks to my friend Steph for reading it over and suggesting the title, and thank you (the reader!) for sticking around to read.


End file.
